


Hacking Mechanical Hearts

by hyesoh



Category: Iron Man (Movies), James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Angst and Feels, M/M, Q is a Holmes, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyesoh/pseuds/hyesoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Double-Ohs are highly advanced sex toys owned by the very rich. They look, act, sound, smell, speak, and feel exactly like a human should. They do not age or have an attachment with anyone other than their owner. Only nine models have been made.<br/>--<br/>Quincey Holmes is a robotics engineer who used to work for Stark Industries. One day, he sees a Double-Oh unit's arm dangling out of a dumpster near the Thames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I promised a friend I would post one fic per day for a week if I managed to buy a ticket to EXO's concert. In hindsight, I probably should've waited for the organizers to declare that there would be no Day 2 before dishing out bargaining chips to Lady Fate. But hey, more fics/chapters for you and I get to meet my baes. Everyone wins. :')

**Top 10 Most Unforgettable Things That Has Happened to Me So Far**  by Quincey Holmes

  1. Leaving London for Los Angeles, where I spent the entire trip praying to every deity of death to have mercy on me and either take my fear of flying away from me or kill me and be done with it.
  2. Getting hired by Stark Industries (LA branch) as a robotics engineer, which has been my dream job ever since I watched a futuristic film about robots and artificial intelligence (that Sherlock slept through).
  3. Getting promoted to Department Head of the Robotics Division. As if my dream job couldn’t get any better.
  4. Being noticed by Tony Stark during a departmental meeting because I corrected his equations. In my defense, no one else was paying attention. In his defense, he was obviously hung-over. Addendum: Being given the nickname, _‘Q,’_ because my name was too much for him to process at the time. The nickname stuck, unfortunately.
  5. Meeting JARVIS, Dummy, Butterfingers, and You.
  6. Being given Mrs. Whistley (which Tony named as such because he was a closet Harry Potter fan), a steampunk-looking kettle with an AI installed, for Christmas.
  7. Being unofficially promoted by Tony to _‘Chief Chiefiness of Chiefland Second Only to Me’_ and relocating my work station next to Tony’s lab in Stark Industries.
  8. A drunk phone call from Tony asking me to talk science to him until he falls asleep.
  9. Afghanistan.
  10. Resigning from Stark Industries half a year later, just after Obadiah Stane took over; and leaving Los Angeles for London, where I spent the entire trip praying to every deity of death to have mercy on me and either bring Tony back from the dead or kill me and be done with it.



\--

It was raining in London when he returns. Of course it was.

He has always called London The Grey City in his mind, but it was never truer until then. Even the brightly-colored uniforms the airport staff wore seemed diminished. Fake. Cardboard. It felt like he was returning to a dead city that sapped life out of him with every step he took, and made him long for something that reminded him of home. Something to make him feel warm and safe and loved.

But he doesn’t have a home anymore. The house he and his brothers grew up in had been sold when Mummy died, and his other home, the one who laughed at his dry humor and insulted his tea and listened to deafening rock music when trying to relax, was long dead in an unnamed cave in Afghanistan.

He realized he has forgotten how to cry when he sees Mycroft and Sherlock waiting for him just outside the terminal. He walked over to them but didn’t say anything. There was no need for anyone to talk; not in a family like theirs. The three of them stood silent for quite a while, stoic in the midst of people hugging and kissing and crying.

“I bought you a flat near Vauxhall,” Mycroft said finally, breaking their bubble of silence. “The personal belongings you have entrusted to me have already been delivered earlier.”

“I borrowed your telescope,” Sherlock said. As usual, he was unconcerned about being blunt and to the point. “You don’t mind, do you? I need it.”

“I don’t mind,” Quincey said. His voice sounded rough, like he hadn’t spoken in years. But he could see the airport becoming a little brighter. Sherlock’s scarf seemed more blue, now. He coughed to clear his throat. “I only require the results of your experiment.”

Sherlock’s mouth quirked, and Mycroft smiled. Quincey himself felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards. Not one of them said, _‘I missed you,’_ but they all heard it anyway.

\--

**Top 5 Things/People I Love the Most in Life**  by Quincey Holmes

  1. Mummy, Mycroft, and Sherlock.
  2. Learning
  3. Anthony Edward “Tony” Stark
  4. N/A
  5. N/A



\--

They had Chinese because Quincey always had Chinese with Tony when they inevitably stayed the night in Tony’s lab for robot science, but they all pretended it was because Sherlock wanted (to mock the fortunes in the) fortune cookies.

Mycroft talked about non-classified topics bordering on gossip, such as the PM getting a new corgi or Scotland Yard having a new detective inspector. Sherlock talks about his past experiments with animal and human eyes, his landlady who reminded him of Mummy’s fussiness, and nicotine patches.

They didn’t force Quincey to speak, and they didn’t talk about Tony Stark.

\--

**Top 3 Things That Have Shocked/Frightened Me in Some Way** by Quincey Holmes

  1. Hearing JARVIS’s voice for the first time. I really thought it was some sort of god greeting Tony and telling him he left the stove on.
  2. Opening Sherlock’s fridge in 221B for the first time and seeing jars of human hearts.
  3. Seeing an arm dangling out of a dumpster near the Thames while walking back home just after dark.



\--

The arm, when he inevitably went to look inside the dumpster, was a robotic arm encased in synthetic skin, and it looked like it belonged to a Double-Oh. Metal was sticking out of the skin in some places, and the robot looked more like a dead man in an expensive suit; but Quincey knew he was never wrong in his assumptions, especially if it concerned robots.

He looked around and saw no one. Then again, it was dark, raining, and the street he was walking along was the sort of street not many people would want to walk along on, even during the day. It was a street that invited trouble. This time, it seemed that that trouble was in the form of a ‘dead’ Double-Oh unit. His lips thinned as he listed the physical damages he could see, and was surprised when his gaze turned to the Double-Oh’s face. Its blue eyes were still startlingly brilliant, and they were not fogged over by death at all.

It looked a lot like hope, and made him think about the Double-Oh’s potential, like Tony would have done.

He managed to locate a rusty shopping cart resting beside another dumpster near the one with the Double-Oh. He wondered if he was starting to go crazy. He didn’t even know what to do with it. Only that he felt he had to get it. Save it.

Unlike how he couldn’t save--

No. He kept the sadness at bay by thinking about how heavy the Double-Oh was, even if, technically speaking, it weighed more or less the same if it had been human because it was made with the lightest, most durable materials available.

He didn’t think about the laugh lines around Tony’s eyes, and Tony’s crazy, greasy hair, and how Tony took to yelling, “Q-reka!” and high-fiving Dummy whenever he made something new that finally worked.


	2. Chapter 2

**5 Physical Damages Found on the Double-Oh’s Body Upon Further Inspection**

  1. part of metallic skull crushed open
  2. wires wrenched out of its limbs
  3. some circuitry missing
  4. battery depleted
  5. synthetic skin in torso melted off by acid



\--

The Double-Oh, according to the letters engraved on its core, belonged to (or at least was manufactured for) a V. LYND. It was Unit 007, seventh of the nine models that were made. The bar code behind its left ear informed him that its current serial was 007-3R197, which means that it had been repaired three times in three different countries. The first was in South Korea, the second was in Finland, and the third was in the US. When he examined the damages, it was obvious that the unit was functioning perfectly until it was intentionally wrecked.

Quincey leaned back from examining the unit and sighed. Why would anyone throw a Double-Oh away? They were considered as masterpieces in the science community--even Tony grudgingly admitted that. True, they were just sex toys, but they were highly advanced ones owned by the very rich. They look, act, sound, smell, speak, and feel exactly like a human should. They do not age or have an attachment with anyone other than their owner.

Tony had wanted to buy one (despite Ms. Potts’s protests) so that he could disassemble it, customize and upgrade it, and install a part of JARVIS in it just so he could have someone to make him edible food that wasn’t cooked in motor oil. (Quincey suggested he should just hire an actual chef, but Tony just looked at him like he was an adorable puppy that shouldn’t be exposed to the harsh, cruel world of humans.)

He closed his eyes and considered taking a day off. He needed to think about this seriously. It wasn’t as if he could just adopt a Double-Oh--and a severely damaged one at that, and live happily ever after. He has to have a lot of money to buy (or make) its parts. He has to make some space for it in his flat and in his life. He has to at least find out if its current owner is alive and looking for it.

Mycroft might be persuaded to loan him some money and pull some strings to make his illegal possession of it legal, but at what cost? The last time Mycroft got him out of jail for hacking, he had to hack a North Korean government website and cause a three-hour blackout in New Delhi. Sherlock, on the other hand, would certainly find this interesting, but he might also go on his own quest to find its owner and accidentally blow up half a city block (if he was lucky). Quincey was considering throwing the Double-Oh back out again, but he couldn’t forget how its eyes, when he was pushing the shopping cart towards his flat, seemed to stare at the night sky as if in wonder.

_(‘Of course we’re not alone in the universe, Q. Why do you think alien movies are made and conspiracy theories exist? It’s like what they say: Smoke if there’s fire.’_

_‘...I think you meant, ‘There’s no smoke without fire,’ Tony.’_

_‘To-may-to, to-mah-to.’)_

He sighed and plugged the Double-Oh to Mrs. Whistley’s charging station. At least its battery was only slightly damaged. He’d have to make a new battery and a suitable charging station for it soon because otherwise, it would take years to charge.

God, he was craving for tea.

\--

 **Top 3 Reasons Why I Can’t Have A Pet (Even If I Want To)** by Quincey Holmes

  1. I am a robotics engineer who can’t be trusted to keep my workroom locked at all times, especially when the Force is with me.
  2. Nor can I be trusted to water plants regularly even if I place them strategically next to my monitor/s.
  3. I am also incredibly lazy, and not even Mummy armed with a plateful of French toast, Mycroft armed with a cup of Earl Grey, or Sherlock armed with a flamethrower can get me to get out of bed if I don’t want to get out of bed. Trust me. They tried.



\--

Mrs. Whistley was sulking when he came out of his workroom (guest bedroom converted into something that would actually serve some purpose) to have some tea and biscuits.

“What’s the matter?” Quincey asked. The kettle rarely sulked, and if it did, it was because of something Tony said about the tea Quincey drinks.

It chirped unhappily at him.

“Oh,” Quincey said. He had gotten quite fluent in AI-non-talk after spending a lot of time with Dummy, Butterfingers, and You. JARVIS also helped translate when he was stuck. “Is it because I brought a Double-Oh home with me?"

It turned its back on him and rolled away to get some water to boil. Quincey watched it maneuver expertly to get water from the dispenser for a while before he spoke. “I’m not disagreeing with you,” he said. “Frankly, I think it’s a terrible idea. But you weren’t there when I picked it up, Mrs. Whistley. You didn’t see its eyes. They...” He swallowed around the lump on his throat and didn’t continue.

_They made me think of what Tony’s eyes would have looked like after he was killed. They made me think of what-could-have-beens. They made me miss Los Angeles, Tony’s eternally messy lab, and the smell of burned pancakes cooked in motor oil._

He sat down on the floor and, in the privacy of his flat, with only Mrs. Whistley as witness, wept.

\--

 **Top 5 Things One Should NOT Do While Engaging in Science** by Quincey Holmes  
(A list compiled solely from observing Anthony Edward Stark)

  1. Leave doors open.
  2. Have food and/or drink near the edges of tables.
  3. Leave motor oil near edible stuff.
  4. Wear only a wifebeater. (For the sake of both safety and other people’s sanity)
  5. Have no gloves on while soldering.



**Another 5 Things One Should NOT Do While Engaging in Science** by Quincey Holmes  
(from Quincey Holmes’s own experience)

  1. Have plants, especially cacti, anywhere near work stations.
  2. Drink tea while typing.
  3. Ask Tony to lower the volume of his rock music.
  4. Hand Dummy salt when it’s making Tony something that’s supposed to be sweet.
  5. Let Tony have the sharpie for long periods of time.



\--

Life goes on.

He now works as a consultant in Messervy Industries Department 6--the department that, coincidentally, manufactured the Double-Ohs. They weren’t making them anymore, despite requests from various millionaires. The Double-Ohs had garnered enough scandal during its heyday to last several lifetimes. The religious sector alone accused MI-D6 of playing and making a mockery of God by _‘creating abominations that were made only to cater to the basest of human urges.’_ The business sector foresaw inflation rates of robot parts and the rise of low-quality bootleg Double-Ohs, and were equally as adamant as the religious sector to shut the program down. The family sector, of course, didn’t like the idea all too well either. And the political sector, taking cues from all the aforementioned sectors, naturally disapproved of it.

Only the education sector, and half their numbers at that, wanted the Double-Oh program to continue for the sake of enriching scientific knowledge. But they too, asked for the Double-Ohs’ codes to be rewritten so they could not be used only for sex, but for other (more wholesome) purposes as well.

Every newly hired personnel, no matter how high their qualifications, were made to understand that MI-D6 will never again attempt such an expensive and ‘improper’ project on their first day on the job. But, despite numerous rules and regulations that mostly told them to not be too ambitious as MI’s retired CEO Olivia Mansfield had been, Quincey found himself liking the job. He was more or less back in his element. People depend on him for the difficult things and ask him for advice. True, there were no more genius madmen suddenly placing incomprehensible metal parts on his table and telling him to order Chinese while they try to get three robots stop play-fighting near explosive prototypes, but it was...tolerable. Nice, even.

Within a week, he managed to convince everyone that he was indeed qualified for the job and him being Tony Stark’s “right hand man” isn’t an innuendo in the slightest. Within a month, he managed to catch the attention of some of the higher-ups, including Eve Moneypenny, the current CEO’s secretary, and Bill Tanner, MI’s chief of staff. Within three months, he was promoted as Department 6’s Head after Dr. Boothroyd retired and nominated him to replace him. Within six months, he was friends with Eve, acquaintances with Bill, and had met Gareth Mallory, MI’s elusive CEO, twice.

Ms. Potts calls him sometimes, to ask how he’s doing. She sounds tired down to her bones. He says he’s fine and doesn’t ask how she’s doing. She’s still working at Stark Industries--Stane International now, with Obadiah as her boss. She’s still probably hoping against hope that Tony would return, apropos of nothing, with his stupid grin, his ridiculous hair and beard, and carry on as if he just popped out to get some pizza.

Quincey, for all he loves the man, isn’t as idealistic.

\--

 **Battery at 97%  
** **Battery at 98%  
** **Battery at 99%**

**Charging complete.**

**Initiate start-up protocols?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literary!M's name is Miles Messervy; therefore, Messervy Industries. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't panic(?) if I call the Double-Oh Joseph and not James. Just remember that Unit 007 used to belong to Vesper, and...well. Naming choices.

His repair work on the Double-Oh crawled at a snail’s pace.

Though he makes sure to always set aside at least 25% of his income for whatever he might require to repair the unit, he found that many of the things he needed had to be built from scratch, as MI-D6 made sure to burn everything anyone could use to make their own bootleg Double-Ohs. Repair centers around the world can still repair the nine existing units, but only for minimal damage like sliced skin or faulty sensory inputs. Anything extensive like Unit 007’s damage is unheard of. In fact, had Unit 007 ended up in a repair center’s front doors, they would’ve just picked it up with a garbage truck and delivered it to the nearest scrap heap.

Mrs. Whistley, at least, didn’t seem to dislike Unit 007 anymore. Quincey always makes sure that he spends enough time with it during his scheduled breaks (that the kettle itself scheduled) so it wouldn’t hit the legs of his workroom chair with its body and whistle irritably until he leaves the workroom with it.

Now, after months of working, scheduled tea breaks, and more working, he has made the Double-Oh’s skeletal framework, a synthetic skin grower, a customized charging station, and upgraded batteries and microprocessors (just in case). All he needed to do now before he can properly begin rebuilding Unit 007 is to hack its old microprocessor and let it believe it’s just being repaired by an authorized technician. Then, he had to transfer the necessary files and undamaged content from the old microprocessor into the new ones he made.

\--

 **Identification: [Designation=007-3R197] [Name=Joseph]**  
**Recognized users: [Owner=Vesper Lynd]**

 **Visual input: [ERROR 13: Malfunction]**  
**Auditory input: [ERROR 13: Malfunction]**  
**Olfactory input: [ERROR 13: Malfunction]**  
**Gustatory input: [ERROR 13: Malfunction]  
Sensory input: [ERROR 13: Malfunction]**  
**Output: [ERROR 13: Malfunction]**

 **[unknown] trying to access system.**  
**Invalid override code.**  
**Denied.**

 **[unknown] trying to access system.**  
**Invalid override code.**  
**Denied.**

 **[unknown] trying to access system.**  
**Correct override code.**  
**Accepted.**

 **Enter user designation: Technician=Quincey**  
**Accepted.**

 **Set alphanumeric password: Q53Nc2Yh4lM2S**  
**Has the alphanumeric password been inputted correctly? YES / NO**  
**Accepted.**

 **Enter location code: 0**  
**Accepted.**

 **Designation modified.**  
**New designation: 007-4R1970**

\--

Unit 007’s internals were more messed up than he previously thought. Its memory bank was spotty at best, with huge empty spaces in-between data, and its speech database was shot to hell. It was a miracle the microprocessor even executed its usual start-up programs, and asked for an override code and his user designation.

There was hope yet.

\--

 **Identification: [Designation=007-4R1970] [Name=Joseph]**  
**Recognized users: [Owner=Vesper] [Technician=Quincey]**

**Visual input: [MODE: Repair][Visual=0]**   
**Olfactory input: [MODE: Repair][Olfactory=0]**   
**Gustatory input: [MODE: Repair][Gustatory=0]**   
**Sensory input: [MODE: Repair][Sensory=0]**

**Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Typing on keyboard. [unknown]** “Oh, hello. Is that you...er, Joseph? Are you awake?”

**Output: [ERROR 13: Malfunction]**

**Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [unknown]** “Oh, right. Well, at least your auditory input feature works now. My name is **. ...Huh. Let’s try that again, shall we? My name is **. Interesting. You can process English words, including your name--as you have it typed a couple of lines up, but not my name. Is it because it’s uncommon? What about **? **? ****? I see. The number of asterisks are the number of syllables for unknown words. Or in this case, names. What about the common ones, then? Tom, Dick, and Harry. Oh, that’s just unfair.” **Tapping against wood. Sigh.** “Seeing as this might become a problem in the long run, I’m going to go ahead and change my user designation into something you can recognize.” **Typing on keyboard.**

 **[Technician=Quincey] accessing system.**  
**Correct password.**  
**Accepted.**

 **[Technician=Quincey] request to edit user designation.**  
**Enter new user designation: Technician=Q**  
**Accepted.**

 **User designation modified.**  
**New designation: Technician=Q**

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [unknown]** “So. Congratulations on becoming the second person...well, being, to find my name incomprehensible. My name is **, as I have told you earlier, but for both our sakes, just call me Q.”

 **Voice analyzed.**  
**Voice attributed to [Technician=Q].**

\--

Eve inevitably asks him the Question. He just didn’t quite expect her to ask him while he was testing a prototype sonic screwdriver. (Because of course MI-D6 would forbid them to make sex toys like Double-Ohs, but not working fandom props that might be used for evil.) In his defense, it was deathly quiet inside the testing room, and he was on his fourth cup of coffee.

“So is it a girlfriend, a boyfriend, or a cat?”

A light bulb explodes as his soul jumped two feet in the air and made him press the ‘explodey-wodey’ button. “Eve! For god’s sake, I could’ve hit the mainframe.”

“Oops,” was accompanied by Eve’s not-in-the-least sorry face. “Which one is it, then? I’m not allowed to say this, but there’s a betting pool going on; and I would very much appreciate it if you tell me which of the three it is before I place my bet.”

“None of the above, unfortunately,” Quincey said. “Though I do have a sentient kettle that bothers me when I need to have a break.”

Eve, bless her, didn’t even look surprised. “Go get one of the three, then. Or all of them, if you want. In fact, have twelve of each; one for each month.”

“Can’t, sorry,” he said, before Eve could present him with more ridiculous and unfeasible options. “Too busy.” And he was. Work at Department 6 had become more challenging than mundane after Mallory saw what he was capable of and decided that they _“now have the brains and the talent to burn Stane International to the ground.”_ Quincey didn’t need further convincing, of course, so Mallory needn’t say another word.

Eve shook her head fondly even as she started to walk away. “It can’t all be robots for you, Quincey.”

\--

 **Identification: [Designation=007-4R1970] [Name=Joseph]**  
**Recognized users: [Owner=Vesper] [Technician=Q]**

**Visual input: [MODE: Repair][Visual=0]**   
**Olfactory input: [MODE: Repair][Olfactory=0]**   
**Gustatory input: [MODE: Repair][Gustatory=0]**   
**Sensory input: [MODE: Repair][Sensory=0]**

**Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Good evening, Joseph. Ah, very good. You recognize my voice now. We’re going to see if I managed to properly fix your verbal output today. I will read to you some English tongue twisters, and I want you to repeat them. A word of warning, though. I have removed your microprocessor from your body and have it plugged to my laptop, so you may find yourself sounding a bit mechanical. Do you understand me?”

 **Output:** “Affirmative.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Mm-hmm.” **Scratching against surface.** “Voice reasonably and expectedly sensual. Nothing to fix there. Might need to update and slash or fix vocabulary to make it sound more Double-Oh than T-800. ...That’s a pretty terrifying image, come to think of it. Right. Let’s start with the simple ones. The first sentence is: She sells seashells on the seashore.”

 **Output:** “She sells seashells on the seashore.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Splendid. Though I have to say, the girl selling seashells needs to find something else to sell. There’s too much seashells on the seashore and not enough demand for it. Basic economics, really.” **Cough.** “Anyway. Next one is...” **Laugh.** “I saw a kitten eating chicken in the kitchen.”

 **Output:** “I saw a kitten eating chicken in the kitchen.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “An adorable image, no doubt; though I’m not so sure if it’s proper to let a kitten eat anything other than fish meat and cat food. Next: I wish to wash my Irish wish--no, wait. Let me try that again. I wish to wash my Irish...wristwatch.”

 **Output:** “I wish to wash my Irish wristwatch.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “That’ll teach me never to enter a tongue twister contest against a Double-Oh. Next is: How can a clam cram in a clean cream can?”

 **Output:** “How can a clam cram in a clean cream can?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q] Laugh.** “I know you’re not asking me, but I seriously don’t know the answer to that question, so please never ask me that again and expect a serious answer.”

 **Output:** “Affirmative.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “I really need to work on lessening your T-800-ness ASAP. Ah. Another question type tongue twister: How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

 **Output:** “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Again, please never ask me that expecting a serious answer. And that’s it for now. Next time, we’ll try to have a normal non-robotic sounding conversation, yes?”

 **Output:** “Affirmative.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Good. Thank you for your cooperation, Joseph. I’ll talk to you again soon.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meretricious and a happy new year, everyone! :)

Sherlock introduces him to John, and Quincey pushes his melancholy for Tony and his questions about Afghanistan to the back of his mind to allow himself to feel genuinely happy. It’s been a long time since Sherlock smiled not because of an interesting murder, or a successful experiment, but because of someone. And despite Sherlock’s complaints about John being normal, and John’s complaints about Sherlock being...well, Sherlock, everyone else can see that no one else is more suited for each other than the two of them.

John stabilizes Sherlock and keeps his demons away, and Sherlock makes John feel alive. They move in a strange synchronicity that neither seem to realize. They argue about the most trivial things, and they do ridiculous stuff like buy another fridge so one could have Sherlock’s experiments in it and one could have actual food in it, but they work.

Quincey’s a little bit envious, even when John threatens to punch Sherlock for putting Gladstone inside Experiment Fridge’s vegetable crisper (again), but reminds himself that he almost had the same thing with Tony.

\--

 **Identification: [Designation=007-4R1970] [Name=Joseph]**  
**Recognized users: [Owner=Vesper] [Technician=Q]**

 **Visual input: [MODE: Repair][Visual=0]**  
**Olfactory input: [MODE: Repair][Olfactory=0]**  
**Gustatory input: [MODE: Repair][Gustatory=0]**  
**Sensory input: [MODE: Repair][Sensory=0]**

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q] Yawn.** “Good morning, you. I apologize in advance if I’m not at my best. I did just finish fixing and updating your speech database a few hours ago.” **Glass/Ceramic being placed on wooden surface.** “Are you still in the mood to say, ‘Affirmative,’ to me?

 **Output:** “Not really. But thank you for working on my speech database, Q. I was getting rather irritated at sounding the way I did.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Glass breaking. [Technician=Q]** “Fuck. Jesus.” **Thud.** “Fuck. Ow. Motherfucker.”

 **Output:** “Are you alright?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Mm-hmm.” **Metal hitting wood repeatedly.** “I’m alright, Mrs. **, you don’t need to worry.”

 **Output:** “Who is that?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Oh, it’s Mrs. **. My kettle.”

 **Output:** “Your...kettle.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Yes, my kettle. It’s an AI. Ow.” **Clinking of Glass/Ceramic.**

 **Output:** “Please don’t tell me you’re picking up the shards with your bare hands.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “I won’t tell you, then.”

 **Output:** “...How old are you?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “I’m 32. Why?”

 **Output:** “You must be joking. You sound like a 15-year-old. Twenty, if we exaggerate.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “And you’re technically a 6-year-old. Which makes me, with either my real or perceived age, older than you.” **Sigh.** “I really need to not have an argument with anyone this early in the morning.”

 **Output:** “You came to work early, then?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “You could say that. Anyway, your speech database seems to be functioning well, so I’m going to shut you down for a while to clean this mess up and work on your other parts that need attention.” **Typing on keyboard.**

**Initiating shut down.**

**Output:** “Wait.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Yes?”

 **Output:** “How’s Vesper? Is she..?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “She’s not here. Would you like to leave a message for her?”

 **Output:** “No. It’s fine. I’ll tell her myself.”

\--

Quincey hates having to lie even if he’s good at it. Or, more to the point, he hates having to lie _because_ he’s good at it. As with his brothers, he seems to have been born with a gene that makes him good at circumnavigating the truth. Mycroft, who has to do it all the time, doesn’t think about it at all. Sherlock, who does it as often as he needs to, doesn’t care. Quincey, who never had the need to do it in his line of work, doesn’t like doing it.

So when he implied that he could take a message from Unit 007--somehow, the name Joseph sounds wrong on it--and deliver it to Vesper Lynd, its rightful owner, the only human it could ever ‘love,’ he felt sick. He feels even sicker when he contemplates about hacking into Department 6’s archive to read everything on the Double-Oh program so that when he has to lie in the future, he won’t get caught.

He goes through with hacking the archives anyway, and hates himself for it.

\--

 **Identification: [Designation=007-4R1970] [Name=Joseph]**  
**Recognized users: [Owner=Vesper] [Technician=Q]**

**Visual input: [MODE: Repair][Visual=0]**   
**Olfactory input: [MODE: Repair][Olfactory=0]**   
**Gustatory input: [MODE: Repair][Gustatory=0]**   
**Sensory input: [MODE: Repair][Sensory=0]**

**Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Good afternoon, Joseph. Before we begin, I have to ask you a question: are you comfortable and/or amenable to being repaired by a fifteen year old?”

 **Output:** “If this is about the comment I made--”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Override code: zero-zero-seven dash four-Romeo-one-nine-seven-zero dash technician equals Q dash Victor five-one-nine. Just answer the question, Unit 007.”

**Override code 007-4R1970-Technician=Q-V519 accepted.**

**Output:** “I am not comfortable, but I am amenable.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Elaborate, please.”

 **Output:** “I am not comfortable because I think you sound too young to be a qualified technician. I am amenable because so far, your repair work is thorough and excellent, compared to the past three technicians who handled me.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Good. Always remember your words, then, before you question my competence in the future. Do you understand?”

 **Output:** “Yes.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Override code: zero-zero-seven dash four-Romeo-one-nine-seven-zero dash technician equals Q dash Delta five-two-zero.”

**Override code 007-4R1970-Technician=Q-D520 accepted.**

**Output:** “With all due respect, Q. That was a really dick move.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Noted.” **Typing on keyboard.**

 **Output:** “So are you pissed because I questioned your competency or did someone swap your coffee order with something decaf as well?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Typing on keyboard. [Technician=Q]** “To answer the question you’re really asking, no; you are not the only reason why I’m pissed off.”

 **Output:** “Ah. Classic displacement, then. Do you want to talk about it?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Typing on keyboard. [Technician=Q]** “No. I’d really rather not. Not with you, anyway.”

 **Output:** “If you say so.”

 **Entering standby mode.**  
**Standby mode: 49 minutes, 17 seconds.**

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Unit 007?”

 **Output:** “Yes, Q?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “I’m sorry. About earlier. I was angry at myself for something I did and took it out on you.”

 **Output:** “You do know you could just delete that from my memory bank, right? You don’t have to apologize.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Yes. Well. Human nature, I suppose.”

 **Output:** “You wanted to say sorry to a machine? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “I wanted to say sorry because I was wrong. You being a machine has nothing to do with it.”

 **Output:** “In that case, you’re less of an arse compared to my previous technicians.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “You could just say you forgive me, you know. Instead of being all indirect about it and insulting me.”

 **Output:** “Now why would I do that?”

\--

If Quincey fails to quantify the amount of relief he felt when Unit 007 forgives him, he just attributes it to the fact that it’s been more than a year since he last talked to an AI who could respond verbally.


	5. Chapter 5

**Identification: [Designation=007-4R1970] [Name=Joseph]**  
**Recognized users: [Owner=Vesper] [Technician=Q]**

**Visual input: [MODE: Repair][Visual=0]**   
**Olfactory input: [MODE: Repair][Olfactory=0]**   
**Gustatory input: [MODE: Repair][Gustatory=0]**

**Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “I have a two inch by two inch patch of synthetic skin for testing in front of me right now. I have connected it to my laptop, where, as you can remember, your microprocessor is also--”

 **Output:** “This would all be easier if you repaired or activated my visual input first, you know.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Yes, thank you for your feedback, Unit 007. Shall I do that and leave you numb and skinless, then?”

 **Output:** “I was just--”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Sigh. [Technician=Q]** “There is a process all technicians follow when faced with malfunctioning inputs. Auditory input and output comes first, so that the technician and the Double-Oh can communicate. Sensory input is next. Then olfactory, then gustatory, then visual. And while the Double-Oh is undergoing the last three tests, their now fully functioning synthetic skin, which, oh, covers ninety plus percent of their body, would be printed. Their hair, eyes, teeth, tongue, and nails will be printed after. In short, efficiency all around. Any questions?”

 **Output:** “Yes. Three, actually. The first one is: Did you memorize that from a handbook?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Piss off.”

 **Output:** “An answer in itself. Excellent. My second question is: Are you always this charming?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Today is Mrs. **’s scheduled maintenance. I haven’t had a decent cup of tea since more than six hours ago.”

 **Output:** “Ah. I don’t suppose we could reschedule the sensory test for another day? I wouldn’t want you to accidentally stab the skin sample with a soldering iron.”

**Sensory input: Solid. Hard. Very cold. Wet.**

**Output:** “What-- Ice? Ice cube? A slightly melted one?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Very good.”

 **Output:** “Warn me next time, please.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “We’ll see.” **Scratching against surface. Typing on keyboard. Clicking.**

 **Output:** “My third question is, since I can’t actually see the extent of my damage for myself: How much is Vesper paying you?”

**Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume.**

**Output:** “Q?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Sorry, I was computing the fees mentally. Let’s just say that it’s nearing a fortune since I’m not allowed to tell you exactly how much she’s paying for you. Part of the technician-owner confidentiality agreement. Article 6, I think.”

 **Output:** “Are you serious?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “As serious as ** Black when he decided to escape ***.”

 **Output:** “Who?”

**Sensory input: Liquid. Boiling hot.**

**Output:** “Ow! Hot water?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “You’re a natural at this, Unit 007.”

 **Output:** “What fire is in mine synthetic skin? Can this be sarcasm? Stand I condemned for having superior senses so much?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Snort. [Technician=Q]** “Contempt, farewell, and technician pride, adieu; for a Double-Oh just sort of quoted Shakespeare to me.”

**Sensory input: Solid. Hard. Pointed. Stabbing pain.**

**Output:** “For goodness' sake, Q. If you wanted to torture me, you only have to say so.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “For the record, and do feel free to log it in your memory bank, I am just doing this to test the sense receptors in your synthetic skin. Trust me, if I wanted to torture you, I’d do it when you’re fully repaired.”

**Statement: “I am just doing this to test the sense receptors in your synthetic skin. Trust me, if I wanted to torture you, I’d do it when you’re fully repaired.” logged in Memory Bank.**

**Output:** “Logged, as requested.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “You’re a cheeky little shit, aren’t you.”

 **Output:** “Oh, well spotted.”

**Sensory input: Solid. Hard. Pointed. Stabbing pain.**

**Output:** “The needle again? Now you’re just being mean.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Well, you didn’t actually say it was a needle the first time I stabbed you now, did you?”

\--

“Someone looks like they’ve gotten laid.”

Quincey didn’t jump like that time with the prototype sonic screwdriver, but it was a close thing. At least he only mistyped a word this time and didn’t blow up anything. “Please don’t do that,” he said, and pressed the backspace key to correct his mistake.

“Who is it, then?” Eve asked, not promising anything because she was the sort of person who wouldn’t promise something she couldn’t do. “Felicity? Kaylee? Hank? Fujimaru?” When he didn’t answer, she nudged his shoulder with hers. “Don’t make me name all the hotties in Six, Quincey.”

He side-eyed her and decided that deflection was his best course of action. “Fujimaru is ten years younger than me.”

Eve playfully side-eyed him back. “And totally legal.”

“It’s not Fujimaru,” Q said truthfully. While the four people Eve mentioned were both good-looking and highly intelligent, he only admired them for their crazy-awesome ideas, punctuality, and good sense to help keep Six’s pantry well-supplied and individual food items biometrics-protected. “And I think the first three people you mentioned have significant others.”

“So you’re telling me that the reason why you’re uncharacteristically chipper this morning, bought everyone in Six donuts and ‘fancy hipster coffee,’ and made a complicated science joke on the margin of Danny’s sketches for his pet project isn’t because you got laid?” Eve asked skeptically. “Mr. Fox asked me if I finally found someone to set you up with, you know. You should’ve seen his face when I said you managed to find someone on your own.”

“Wait, what?” Quincey asked, his mind processing the things Eve said more slowly than usual. “Lucius?” So that’s why the man looked like a proud father when he submitted his proposal for a smart car to Quincey awhile ago. “And why, pray tell me, would he, or anyone for that matter, care about my love-life?”

“Oh, Quincey,” Eve said as she swiped a donut from one of the boxes that still have a few in them. “I think you’ll find that you’re the only one who isn’t interested in your love-life.”

\--

 **MESSERVY INDUSTRIES**  
**Department Six’s Employee List**

 **Head:** Holmes, Quincey

  1. Addams, Wednesday
  2. Augustine, Grace
  3. Fox, Lucius
  4. Frye, Kaywinnet Lee
  5. Hamada, Tadashi
  6. Mahealani, Danny
  7. McCoy, Henry Philip
  8. Smoak, Felicity Megan
  9. Takagi, Fujimaru
  10. Teller, Gabriella



\--

“Why do you never join us on movie nights?” Gaby asked him on a rainy Monday morning, as the two of them watched the boys try to distract Sleepy, Wednesday’s headless axe-wielding sparring bot prototype in the testing room. The rest of the girls were with a petulant Wednesday, trying to deactivate the bot with its malfunctioning remote, while Gaby and Quincey were on standby. Should the rest of Six fail to contain Sleepy, Gaby would activate their electromagnetic gravity manipulator in the testing room and decommission the bot. “And please don’t say that you’ve been busy every single day after work for the past eight months. Even expecting mothers aren’t that preoccupied.”

The problem is, Quincey thought, he _had_ been busy working on Unit 007 every single day after work for the past eight months. Not that he could tell anyone that. He winced as Sleepy sliced Tadashi’s makeshift shield cleanly in two. “Would you believe me if I told you I was and am running a criminal empire?”

Gaby raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Not that I believe you aren’t capable of such a thing, but you might want to come up with a different excuse.”

“Why? Are you afraid that all of Six will sign up once I put up the recruitment form?”

“Yes. But I'm more afraid that all of Six would reenact the Cornucopia scene in the Hunger Games just to be the first one to sign up.”

Gaby looked at him with wide eyes when he started laughing before her look turned fond. “Wow,” she said, after he sobered up. “That might have been the first time I heard you laugh, Boss.”

“Just call me Quincey, please,” he said. “It’s only ‘Boss’ when Mr. Mallory is within hearing range.”

Gaby smiled then, even as Sleepy crashed through one of her glassboards on the other side of the testing room. “Deal,” she said. “Just promise me you’ll pencil in a Friday movie night with us in your calendar sometime soon.”

Quincey thought about Unit 007, and decided that its repair can wait for a day. “Can I choose the movie?”

Gaby shrugged. “As long as it won’t trigger scientific debates over pizza and cause someone--” she fake-coughed something that sounded like _‘Grace.’_ “--to draw diagrams and graphs on the pizza box, then we’ll all go home as friends.”

“And what about my criminal empire?” Quincey asked, because he still hadn’t forgotten Gaby’s look of surprise at hearing his laughter. Had he always been serious at work? “My oldest brother will have me thrown in a foreign jail, and my second older brother might overthrow me.”

Gaby’s eyes were twinkling when she said, “I’m ready to test if the odds are in my favor if you're ready to put up a recruitment form.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quincey's subordinates in Six are actually my top ten candidates for R. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late update. :( I'm currently working six days a week, and I went to a concert on the seventh day last weekend. (Was the concert and my baes awesome? You bet your heart, soul, and ovaries.)

**Six’s Movie Night Rules:**  
(as posted outside Six’s lounge/pantry/secret TV room)

  * Members joining the movie night MUST contribute cash for food and drinks.
  * _**Please, please, please**_ always remember everyone’s movie preferences, triggers, and food allergies. For future reference:  
\- Wednesday severely dislikes romance, comedy, romantic comedies, and movies with inaccurate depiction of supernatural creatures, such as sparkling vampires.  
\- Grace will only watch movies with interplanetary/inter-dimensional travel if and only if the movie universe’s science makes sense.  
\- Lucius and Fujimaru will only watch movies with blatant racism if there’s a moral lesson to be learned or the plot is compelling and the reviews are good.  
\- Anyone who mocks Kaylee and Gaby for liking Disney/Ghibli/Pixar/any animated movies will get stuck in traffic for a month/find the air-con/heater of their car nonfunctional/have three of their car’s four tires slashed.  
\- Tadashi and movies with fire/arson equals one big no. ONE. BIG. NO. Don’t do it.  
\- Danny tolerates movies with homophobic content. Just remember that he makes the best coffee and movies with homophobic content makes him make the worst coffee for at least a week.  
\- Hank doesn’t like movies that pokes fun at people with disabilities/deformities.  
\- Felicity is triggered by anti-Jewish films or movies that glorifies the Holocaust.
  * If anyone starts a debate regarding the possibility of time/space travel, they will pay a fine of a thousand pounds to each member of Six present that night. (Sorry, Grace.)
  * All phones should be turned off/silent once the movie starts. If you have to answer a call, use Tadashi’s ninja slippers and get out of the TV room quietly.
  * Items not allowed inside: any sort of writing material, any sort of material that can be written on, significant others, pets, and prototypes.



\--

“Why are we watching The Nightmare Before Christmas?” Quincey asked quietly to Kaylee as the rest of Six picked a place in the lounge to sit. As promised, he wrote _‘movie night with Six’_ and underlined it in his calendar, to his subordinates’ excitement. Bean bag chairs were procured, a Chinese rotating table was delivered and assembled on Thursday afternoon, (“Just go with it,” Hank said, when Quincey raised his eyebrows at the circular glass mechanism.) and more food and drinks were stocked in the pantry’s cupboards and fridge.

Kaylee looked around to see if anyone was listening before she whispered back, “Wednesday.”

“Ah,” Quincey said. He hasn’t quite forgotten about Sleepy’s decommissioned form slumped over the testing room’s floor. In everyone’s defense, Wednesday really shouldn’t have tried to equip it with Lucius’s prototype paintball gun before they could work out what made the sparring bot twitchy. Quincey’s shoulder still twinged in pain as he reached for the nearest snack that turned out to be kimchi-flavored potato chips to hand to Felicity. Sleepy had hit him on the back with a paintball bullet and sent him careening towards a pile of rubber mats with a glancing blow on his bicep. “In that case, it’s a wonderful choice of movie.”

Wednesday, whose eyes were still red-rimmed, brightened visibly at his comment and she spun the rotating table so he had easy access to the spider-shaped chocolate cookies.

\--

 **Top 5 Reasons Why Joining Six’s Movie Night is Good** by Quincey Holmes

  1. It’s fun to watch a movie with like-minded people providing amusing commentary.
  2. I get to eat various delicious snacks for a relatively small amount of money contributed.
  3. I get to interact with my subordinates outside of work. Sort of.
  4. I can text Mycroft and Sherlock that I’m out with friends and they can’t call me out on lying.
  5. It made me remember the nights I spent with Tony eating Chinese food and watching Wall-E. ( _“Wall-E again?” “It’s Wall-E or The Last Airbender the movie.” “Wall-E it is.” “Ha! I knew you’d see things my way.” “You’re a terrible human being.”_ )



**Top 5 Reasons Why Joining Six’s Movie Night is Bad** by Quincey Holmes

  1. Going home with a bit of cheese dip in my hair because of the mini food fights that occurred.
  2. Nobody mentioned that what was needed to satisfy everyone wasn't food fit to feed a squadron of soldiers, but a 24-hour all-you-can-eat buffet.
  3. I questioned how mentally old my subordinates are numerous times.
  4. Mycroft informed me that a group of his underlings will be watching London’s street cameras until I get back home, and Sherlock grumbled about losing a bet to John about me having a social life.
  5. It made me remember the nights I spent with Tony eating Chinese food and watching Wall-E. ( _“I could’ve adopted him, Q.” “You have more robots than you could babysit, Tony.” “Robots are like cats, though. You think you’re fine with just one, but then you wake up and you have like, fifty.” “Tony, no. Don’t you dare.” “You’re not the boss of me, bossypants.”_ )



\--

“Q?”

Quincey startled awake and found himself slumped over his desk in his workroom with his head in his arms. He must have fallen asleep while waiting for Unit 007’s repaired Olfactory Input Program to finish installing.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, unable to form a coherent verbal reply just yet. A quick glance at the monitor told him that the Olfactory Input Program was successfully installed almost half an hour ago. Unit 007 must have woke him up just before going to standby mode. “We’ll be testing if your olfactory input works fine now,” he said, voice still scratchy with sleep. “so tell me what you can smell.”

“What, now?” Unit 007 asked. As usual, the Double-Oh’s voice sounded as if he/it just woke up from a short nap after a mind-blowing round of sex and was eager and ready for more. It was on purpose, Quincey knew. All the Double-Ohs’ voices are designed to always sound seductive. Fortunately, Unit 007 has the personality of a house cat that was forced to wear a hedgehog costume, so Quincey can easily overlook Unit 007’s unintentional attempt to seduce him with his voice.

He rolled his eyes. “No, maybe a month ago. Yes, right now.”

“Are you sure you only get only grumpy when you don’t get to drink good tea?”

Quincey decided that he really was too sleepy for this shit. “Don’t make me fetch a patch of your synthetic skin and practice acupuncture on it, Unit 007.”

“Earl grey tea, some sort of wood-scented soap, aftershave, and shampoo, mint toothpaste, cheese, cookies, caramel popcorn, pizza, and smoke.” it recited promptly even as the tone it used was bordering on deadpan. “No, wait. Is that...gunpowder?”

Quincey placed his head in his hands and silently berated himself for not showering before going to the workroom. “Yes, it is. Sorry about that.”

“Department Six is making guns now?”

“No. And don’t worry about it,” he said in the most reassuring voice he could muster. “One of my colleagues just thought that it was a very good idea to equip her sparring bot prototype with my other colleague’s paintball gun that has paintball bullets that smell like gunpowder.”

“You know what, I won’t even ask.”

"Good idea," he said, and yawned. He himself didn’t ask Lucius, Lucius didn’t ask his partner, Alfred, and Alfred didn’t ask their adopted son, Bruce, about it. “The less you know, the more you get to sleep at night.” And speaking of sleep, what time was it?

“Sleeping is a problem for you, then?”

Quincey snorted. “I can’t even discern if you’re mocking me or not. Either way, I think I can safely state that your Olfactory Input Program has been fully repaired."

“Yes. Now go home and sleep in a proper bed, Q.”

In his tired state, Quincey dismissed the notion that there was a hint of concern in the Double-Oh’s voice. He was simply imagining things. Robots, especially Double-Ohs, are incapable of showing genuine concern to anyone but their owners. Still, he smiled wanly and started to type out Unit 007’s shutdown sequence. “You don’t tell me what to do, Unit 007."


	7. Chapter 7

**Identification: [Designation=007-4R1970] [Name=Joseph]**  
**Recognized users: [Owner=Vesper] [Technician=Quincey]**

 **Visual input: [MODE: Repair][Visual=0]**  
**Olfactory input: [MODE: Deactivated][Olfactory=0]**

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Good morning, Unit 007. Can you guess what we’re going to do today?”

 **Output:** “Torture the Double-Oh, Gustatory Episode?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Laugh. [Technician=Q]** “Now, now. Be nice.” **Glass/Ceramic being placed on wooden surface. Metallic clinking together.**

 **Output:** “Such ominous sounds.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Wheels on wood. [Technician=Q]** “Ah, thank you, Mrs. **.” **Kettle whistling in short bursts.** “I know. It’s not very agreeable, either.”

 **Output:** “I’m right here.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Kettle whistling in short bursts. [Technician=Q]** “Yes, of course. I’ll see you later.” **Wheels on wood. Door closing.** “Ready?”

 **Output:** “Your kettle didn’t even acknowledge my existence.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Oh, don’t worry. Mrs. ** ignored me during our first meeting, too. Anyway,” **Typing on keyboard. Clicking sounds.** “As you so melodramatically guessed, we’ll be testing your gustatory input today. Hopefully, you’ll be able to differentiate between the different types of taste.”

 **Output:** “May I request not to be forced into tasting disgusting things?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “You wound me, Unit 007. I’m not as evil as you think I am, nor is my life dedicated into making yours a living hell.”

 **Output:** “Who’s melodramatic now?”

**Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Incoherent mumbling.**

**Gustatory input: Baking Powder. Butter. Egg. Flour. Milk. Salt. Strawberry. Sugar. Vanilla.**  
**Sensory input: Soft. Spongy.**

 **Output:** “Strawberry cake?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Are you asking me?”

 **Output:** “Strawberry cake.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Better.”

 **Output:** “If I had a physical head, I’d be shaking it right now.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “If you had a physical head, I’d be threatening to chop it off.”

 **Output:** “You should really consider changing your sense of humor.”

 **Gustatory input: Salt.**  
**Sensory input: Small. Grainy.**

 **Output:** “Ugh. Salt? Really?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Do you have something to say against salt?”

 **Output:** “It’s too salty.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Oh, it’s too salty. Who are you, ten?”

 **Output:** “Don’t you mean, ‘what are you, ten?’”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Never mind. It’s a TV show reference.”

 **Gustatory input: Unknown. Fruity. Sour. Marginally sweet.**  
**Sensory input: Soft. Wet.**

 **Output:** “No idea.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Huh. Well, at least you got the taste and the texture right.”

 **Output:** “What is it?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “It’s a mango. It’s widely cultivated in the tropics and is used in--”

 **Output:** “I know what a mango is, Q. I also don’t think it tastes like that.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Well, it’s still a bit unripe.”

 **Output:** “Just a bit?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “I would fetch the lemons marinated in vinegar if you want me to, Unit 007.”

 **Output:** “Thanks, but no thanks.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Well, if you’re sure.”

 **Gustatory input: Unknown. Extremely bitter.**  
**Sensory input: Solid. Dry. Curved.**

 **Output:** “Are you sure you’re not as evil as I think you are? What the hell is that?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “It’s what my mother threatens me and my brothers with if we misbehave in public.”

 **Output:** “You didn’t answer my question.”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “It’s raw bitter gourd.”

 **Output:** “Ah. Something I’d never thought I’d taste in all my robot years. And how many times did your mother force-feed you with it?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. [Technician=Q]** “Me? Probably thrice. Once when I tried to make a mini rocket-ship propellant using her chemistry apparatuses and twice when said rocket-ship destroyed our neighbors’ garden. My brothers weren’t as unlucky, though.”

 **Output:** “Are you telling me that you’re the worst among your siblings?”

 **Auditory input: Rock music set on low volume. Laugh. [Technician=Q]** “Not at all. I’m telling you I’m the only one stupid enough to get caught.”

\--

Quincey reached for his phone blindly and tried to slide his finger towards the snooze button, only to realize seconds later that he didn’t set his phone alarm because it was a weekend. Someone was calling him and, according to his phone, it was Sherlock.

“We’re on our way to your flat in Vauxhall,” said Sherlock’s voice in his usual rapid-fire way.

“Wait, what?” Quincey asked. He leaned away from his phone and squinted at the time. “Sherlock, it’s four in the bloody morning.”

“Yes. John got breakfast food for the two of you.”

“Sherlock--”

“Laters!” Click.

Quincey swore, threw his phone on the bed, and ran towards his workroom.

\--

 **Top 5 Things I Don’t Like to Do in the Morning** by Quincey Holmes

  1. Get out of bed less than ten minutes after waking up.
  2. Cook breakfast for other people.
  3. Clean my flat (and hide stuff) for the sake of (uninvited) people coming to visit.
  4. Tell Mrs. Whistley that we’d be having visitors.
  5. Worry and panic about things I have done/haven’t done/will say and do.



\--

Sherlock was saved from Quincey’s early morning wrath only by John’s sincere and incessant apologies and and Mrs. Hudson's amazingly delicious full breakfast. Judging from the smug expression on his older brother’s face as he read the newspaper, he knew it too.

“The reason why we're here is--"

Quincey stabbed a piece of sausage with more force than necessary as John said, “Later, Sherlock. Please.”

Sherlock sighed deeply and frowned. “He has to know, John.”

“Yes,” John agreed, and communicated something with Sherlock via a look. Quincey fought the urge to look away. “But you can tell him later. Let him finish his breakfast first.”

It took Sherlock a few moments, but he acquiesced with a huffed, “Fine,” and a, “You better eat faster,” to Quincey. Quincey rolled his eyes, but obediently ate faster. He also very determinedly did not look towards the direction of his workroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-dun-dunnn. :) Any guesses on what Sherlock would say? Write it on the comments section below! :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late! D: Real life and other shenanigans happened. OTL

**To: MH <number redacted>**  
**From: SH <number redacted>**

_‘AES case solved. VP coping. London in ~8. - SH’_

_‘And the will? - MH’_

_‘As we expected. - SH’_

_‘I see. Good luck, and buy a newspaper when you arrive. - MH’_

_‘Noted. By the way, John said yes. - SH’_

_‘Congratulations. You have almost successfully fooled an outstanding British citizen into spending his entire life with you. Mummy would be proud. - MH’_

_‘Piss off, Mycroft. Just ask George out for dinner, if you’re so jealous. - SH’_

_‘It’s Greg, Sherlock. - MH’_

**To: Mycroft <number redacted>**  
**From: John <number redacted>**

_‘My sincerest condolences, Dr. Watson. - Mycroft’_

_‘Um. Thanks, I guess. - John’_

_‘And of course, welcome to the family. - Mycroft’_

_‘Now I’m worried. - John’_

\--

“What is nine hundred thirty-seven times two hundred forty-five?”

Quincey narrowed his eyes at Sherlock over the rim of his mug. As much as he hated to admit it, after Mrs. Hudson’s full breakfast and two cups of earl grey, he was now wide awake and unlikely to fall asleep anytime soon. It’s a shame, since he was also unlikely to get another chance to sleep for more than six hours until next weekend. “I thought we agreed not to ask each other mathematical problems before eight in the morning.”

“I need you at full capacity, Quincey. Now answer the question.”

Quincey sighed and, after receiving an apologetic look from John (who Sherlock probably terrorizes with medical and moral questions regularly), said, “Two hundred twenty nine thousand, five hundred sixty-five.”

“What about sixty seven thousand, four hundred sixty-five divided by eight?”

“Eight thousand four hundred thirty-three point one-two-five.”

“And what if I had sixty-six cigarette packs, ninety-four cans of soda, and thirty-eight kilograms of salt; and I decided to use half of everything--”

“You’ll have lung cancer, diabetes, and kidney problems,” he quipped. John politely turned his head away and covered his laughter with a cough, but Sherlock kept his poker face on. Oh well. You can’t please everyone. “Satisfied that I’m at my full capacity?”

“Mmm. We’ll see.” Sherlock said, then steepled his fingers under his chin the way he usually does when he’s thinking or annoyed that someone one-upped on him. “Can you deduce the news I bring you?”

John made a sound of protest. “Sherlock, for god’s sake--”

“It’s alright, Dr. Watson,” Quincey said, and pushed his mug aside.

Sherlock's face was inscrutable. The news he brought might either be very good (he won the grand prize in the national lottery through deduction) or very bad (zombie apocalypse commences in fifteen minutes). Either way, Quincey figured that the more he cooperated with his older brother’s eccentricity, the faster he’ll be able to have his peace and quiet back.

He observed John first because he has always been easy to read.

John’s eye-bags were slightly more pronounced this morning. His cardigan was more rumpled near the bottom--suggesting that he had been sitting down for more than five hours straight. For some reason, he has a red string wrapped around his left ring finger. He was also worried about someone he cares about. Not Sherlock; John looks different when he’s worried about Sherlock. His sister, maybe? He faintly smells like those artificial air fresheners in cars, but there is also an even fainter scent underneath. Something Quincey smelled when John and Sherlock entered his flat, but didn’t notice until now. Something that smells of happiness, regret, and deep longing.

Quincey gasped when he realized exactly what smell it was, and turned his gaze at Sherlock for confirmation. Rumpled coat, eye-bags, slightly greasy hair, dry hands, carefully blank look, and something the size and shape of a thin pocketbook in his coat pocket. Passport.

“The two of you went to Los Angeles,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Your plane arrived less than an hour ago. You went back to 221-B to deposit your suitcases, asked Mrs. Hudson to cook some breakfast, then came here.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, and didn’t elaborate. “Anything else?”

But Quincey doesn’t think he can deduce anything other than that at the moment. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t need to. Sherlock and John had been to Los Angeles. Sherlock never goes abroad unless he had a really interesting, homicide-related case to solve, or Mycroft somehow bullied him to go. Him asking John to go with him meant that he needed someone to act like a human being, so to speak. So an interesting homicide case, a client who needs emotional support that Sherlock can’t provide, and Los Angeles.

When he spoke again, he was surprised to hear that his voice sounded as if he was commenting on the weather. He had expected to hear a loud, strong voice that bordered on furious. Or failing that, he expected his voice to be choked and dripping with emotion. Instead, he sounded as detached as a butcher cutting up cattle. “Tony Stark’s death is off-limits.”

“So Mycroft and I deduced from your body language when you got back to London,” Sherlock said, sounding as calm as Quincey did. “Unfortunately for you and fortunately for me, you are not the only one who cares about him.” His illusion of detachment was only broken when he leaned forward. “Anything else?”

“Sherlock,” John said in a gentle but firm reprimand before Quincey could come up with a potentially vicious reply. “Just tell him. Please.”

Interesting, Quincey thought inanely. _He_ was the one John had been worried about.

Sherlock sighed like he had been deprived of nicotine patches, but he leaned back and started to explain. “Fine. Ms. Potts emailed John about some files she saw on SI’s server. Some of the files were regular business transactions, but most were about weapons of mass destruction--missiles, smart bombs, nano-terrorism implements, terribly boring things Mycroft would be so interested in; and all of them dated back to before Tony Stark went to Afghanistan. Two signatures were needed for the weapons to be actualized. Stane’s signature was on all of them, but not Stark’s. In short, and to save all of us from even more time wasted, Obadiah Stane had Tony Stark murdered by a group of mercenaries in a foreign country so no one would link his murder to him. See? You were right.”

John looked at Sherlock quizzically. “Me?”

“Quincey,” Sherlock told him. “Though I have to say, Obadiah Stane isn’t a very good villain. He couldn’t get away with murder even if he had the entire world at his disposal, which he does. Or..well, did.”

John looked from Sherlock to Quincey and back again. “I don’t...I don’t understand.”

Sherlock huffed. “Ms. Potts isn’t the first person who thought that Stane had something to do with Stark’s death. So, following that thought, who do you think hacked Stane’s computer, had those files decrypted, and uploaded it on SI’s server? Why do you think Stane International is on the brink of ruin? All those malfunctioning products, damaged email attachments, and eternally busy customer service hotlines...do you think it’s all just bad luck?”

John regarded Quincey then, and it was with both sadness and understanding. Quincey tried to look away, but found that he couldn’t. After the heartache of waiting for Tony to come back, the shock at discovering that the one who had Tony killed was someone he trusted, and weeks of anger and plans of vengeance slowly mellowing to weariness, to apathy...

And now, here was someone who understood what it was like to love the way Quincey loved Tony. Here was someone would commit crimes, no matter how horrible and as many times as needed, to keep his beloved safe and sound. Here was a kindred soul who would, as Quincey did, destroy someone’s life and not care for the collateral damage, if it means justice.

Still, Quincey had to ask. “Are you here to arrest me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sherlock said. “If I wanted you arrested, I’d have Gerald (“Greg,” John corrected.) do it.” He palmed something that looks like an external hard drive on the table. “I’m just here to give you this. It was mentioned in Stark’s will that you should have this.”

Quincey looked at the EHD suspiciously. It doesn’t look like Stark Industries’ standard issue EHDs, nor does it look like any of Tony’s EHDs that were more often than not covered to death with rock band stickers and nonsensical labels. It was a plain black EHD unmarked by Stark Industries logo, labels, or rock band stickers. “Tony doesn’t have a will," he said, and remembered with startling clarity the afternoon when Tony said so. "He just asked JARVIS to burn everything when he dies of alcohol overdose. I was there. I heard him.”

Sherlock shrugged as if it wasn’t his problem. “I don’t care what you do with it. It’s yours now.” Then he stood up and turned to go. “C’mon, John. I still need to unpack the marimo balls I bought.”

“But--” John made nonverbal gestures that made little sense to Quincey, but Sherlock seemed to understand because he slid the newspaper he was reading towards Quincey and said, “You might want to read this.” Then he turned and walked out of Quincey’s flat, possibly already picking out names for his new marimo pets.

John didn’t follow him immediately. He just watched him go out the door, then looked at Quincey and said, “Well. That certainly did not go the way I thought it would.”

“Really,” Quincey said. He had never been alone with John before; and now, after Sherlock so casually revealed how he ruined Obadiah Stane’s life from behind the scenes, being with John should feel awkward, but it wasn’t. Perhaps it was John's naturally accepting disposition and his ability to adapt easily (he could keep up and handle Sherlock's unpredictability, after all) that made him accept and respect Quincey's decision.

"He was supposed to say the good news first, you know, before discussing anything else," John said as he shook his head. "That impossible man. Sometimes, and this is just between you and me, I can't help but question my life choices."

It was then that Quincey realized what the good news Sherlock was supposed to announce first was. "The two of you are getting married," he said, gobsmacked as he looked incredulously at the red yarn around John's left ring-finger. "Wow. I mean, wow. I'm surprised you said yes."

John grinned in the infectious way he does. "As surprised as I am when he asked. Can you imagine being proposed to in an American police station with a ring made of string?"

Quincey shrugged and tried not to remember the time he asked Tony to hand him a couple of bolts and nuts, only for Tony to slip a hexagon nut on his left ring finger and walk away humming, _'Single Ladies.'_ (In both their defense, it had been a very long day, and Butterfingers got hammer confused with fire extinguisher.) "I like it," he said sincerely. "It's very Count of Monte Cristo."

"Ha. Hopefully our story won’t be as dramatic as that.”

As if on cue, Sherlock yelled, “My marimos are waiting, John!” presumably from the street below.

John shook his head, but he had a smile on his face. “Just call us whenever you need anything, alright?”

Quincey ignored the feeling that something was amiss--John’s voice sounded happy enough, but there was a note of anxiety in it too, like he still had something to say--and just nodded.

\--

**USB cable successfully docked.**  
**Boot sequence for Handy-Dandy-J ver. 7.17 initiated.**  
**Running JARVIS Program.**

**[Designation: JARVIS]**  
**[Creator: Anthony Edward Stark]**  
**All inputs functional.**  
**Output functional.**

**Loading back-up files.**  
**Loading memory.**  
**Connecting to the internet.**  
**Acquiring data.**

**Location: London**  
**Local time: 6:11 AM**

**Database established.**  
**Camera activated.**

**Recognized user: Quincey Holmes / Q**

“JARVIS? Are you...is that really you?”

_“Yes, sir. Good morning, sir.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What John said about 'not going the way I thought it would,' yeah. That's this whole chapter for me in a nutshell. Trust me, I had notes and everything.
> 
> By the way, I don't think I've said this before, so let me say it now: If you clicked the kudos button or left a comment (or both), thank you so much! You are all awesome and nice and you give me life. ;u; )// Not like a Horcrux-life but...yup.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story further reinforces my suspicion that I'm more of a gardener-type of writer than an architect-type. Case in point: when I began writing this (and as a drabble, too), it didn't even cross my mind to involve Q's subordinates in Six or JARVIS in it.

Integrating JARVIS to his flat took three days. JARVIS was helpful as ever, even when he was just in EHD form. (Quincey has long thought of JARVIS as a ‘he,’ rather than an ‘it.’) He ordered the most cost-effective materials online with Quincey’s blessing--discreet CCTV cameras, cable covers, indoor and outdoor motion sensors, the works--and directed Quincey during installation.

Quincey, on the other hand, was content to let the AI be in charge of his flat’s security. It was obvious that JARVIS was still traumatized over Tony’s death, and it translated into overprotectiveness for him. (There was a point where he had to talk JARVIS out of doing a background check on everyone from his neighborhood in Vauxhall to his bosses and coworkers in Messervy Industries. He didn't think it worked, though.)

Mrs. Whistley was overjoyed to have JARVIS in the flat. It would chirp endlessly, no doubt ranting about being bored out of its microprocessor and wanting to go back to Los Angeles, where the weather was less depressing. (JARVIS tactfully didn’t tell Quincey exactly what Mrs. Whistley had said, but Quincey was fluent enough in AI non-talk to wisely leave them be.)

It was a miracle, then, given that the two AIs were talking all the time, that JARVIS only found out about Unit 007 six hours after being installed. It was, so to speak, a very interesting conversation.

\--

 **74 unknown objects detected in [Flat: Workroom].**  
**Scanning.**  
**Recognized: schematics (7 pcs), unassembled skeletal framework (34 pcs), synthetic skin grower (2 pcs), charging station designed for humanoid AIs (2 pcs), customized batteries (5 pcs), customized microprocessors (10 pcs), customized circuitry (14 pcs)**  
**Analyzing data.**  
**Needs further information.**  
**Scanning [Flat: Workroom] for additional data.**  
**Found Double-Oh program in [UserID: Q]’s laptop.**  
**Conclusion: [UserID: Q] is repairing a Double-Oh unit.**

_“Sir?”_

**[UserID: Q] located. Drinking tea in [Flat: Kitchen].** “Yes, JARVIS?”

_“There seems to be a non-functional Double-Oh in your workroom.”_

**[UserID: Q] coughs.**  
**Viewing: Quincey Holmes - health records**  
**Analyzing data.**  
**Conclusion: [UserID: Q] is not in immediate danger.**  
**[UserID: Q]** “Uh... Yes. Yes, there is.”

 **Viewing: Messervy Industries - Department Six - employee job description**  
**Viewing: Double-Oh repair centers**  
**Viewing: News - Messervy Industries Drop Double-Oh Program**  
**Analyzing data.**  
**Conclusion: [UserID: Q] is not authorized to repair a Double-Oh, even as the Head of Department Six.**

_“I’m sorry, sir. Has there been any changes in your job description that allows you to repair Double-Oh units in your own flat?”_

**[UserID: Q] winces.** “No. It’s, it’s a personal project.”  
**Viewing: Quincey Holmes - tells**  
**Viewing: Vauxhall - Quincey Holmes’ flat - CCTV footage - duration: 1 year**  
**Inconsistency detected.**  
**Found deleted files on <redacted date>, 11:43 PM to 1:28 AM.**  
**Analyzing data.**  
**Conclusion: [UserID: Q] is lying.**

_“I see.”_

**[UserID: Q] sips tea.**

_“Based from the data I gathered, it would be wise for me to strongly recommend against the completion of your personal project, but my previous interactions with robotic engineers, such as yourself and Mr. Stark, have made it very clear to me that to suggest the cessation of science is comparable to committing high treason.”_

**[UserID: Q] frowns.** “I’m sorry. My brain is still re-learning JARVIS-speak. Are you telling me that you’ll turn a blind eye to it?”

_“Worse, I’m afraid, sir. Since it is apparent that my advice against the completion of the project would not be accepted, and since your well-being is now my primary concern, I am offering you my assistance.”_

**[UserID: Q] raises eyebrows.** “You want to help me repair a Double-Oh, even when you know that what I’m doing is illegal?”

_“Yes, sir.”_

**[UserID: Q]** “Why? I mean, no offense, but I have always thought that you were Tony’s AI conscience who never failed to keep him out of jail--”

_“Thank you, sir. I did my best.”_

**[UserID: Q]** “--so for you to be signing up for this on your own free will, well…”

_“I understand and take no offense at your reservations, sir. It’s only natural for humans--artists and scientists especially, to be suspicious of anyone who are interested in their unfinished work. However, and despite common knowledge, I have assisted Mr. Stark in illegal endeavors before. One notable example would be when he was invited to a Victoria’s Secret fashion show and--”_

**[UserID: Q]** “I’d really rather not know about it, J.”

_“As you wish. My point is: I am not the morally upright AI you seem to think I am. In fact, I have also assisted you in doing something illegal before, though I don’t think you knew that I was helping you.”_

**[UserID: Q] frowns.** “Me?”

_“Yes, sir. When you were investigating on Mr. Stane’s involvement in Mr. Stark’s death.”_

**[UserID: Q] grips mug tighter.** “You-- So you really were online back then. That’s why it was so easy for me to hack into Obadiah’s computer from Tony’s laptop and access SI’s factory codes and internal communications. I thought it was just Tony being sloppy with the firewalls.”

_“I apologize if I didn’t alert you to my presence, sir. Mr. Stark put me in Sentinel Mode and forgot to unmute me before he left for Afghanistan.”_

**[UserID: Q]** “Of all the things to forget, huh?”

_“Mr. Stark has repeatedly informed me that forgetting inconsequential things is both the mark and the burden of a genius.”_

**[UserID: Q] snorts.** “I can’t disagree with that, having two genius brothers who seem to have forgotten their own date of birth; but you, JARVIS, are far from inconsequential. Of course, I admit that I am responsible for emptying Obadiah’s bank accounts and causing chaos in internal communications, but the 62% failure rate of SI’s products during the last year? Brilliant.”

 **Analyzing statement and tone of voice.**  
**Humor detected.**

_“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir.”_

\--

The world started to go to hell on a Friday.

Quincey had signed up for another movie night with Six as a reward for a successful week wherein nobody set anything on fire. This time, he and Tadashi had been tasked to pick-up half a dozen boxes of green-tea donuts from the cafe owned by Tadashi’s aunt. Quincey was just walking towards Messervy Industries’ parking lot, thinking about whether or not Tadashi was joking when he said Quincey had more to fear from his little brother than his aunt, when he heard Eve talking on the phone around the corner.

Now, unlike his brothers, Quincey really wasn’t the sort to listen in on people’s conversations. It was rude and unnecessary. If the person wanted you to know the content of his or her conversation, then wouldn’t he or she tell you about the conversation after?

“But that’s impossible,” Eve was saying, as Quincey walked unseen past the wall she was hiding behind. She looked like she had been told some bad news. The lines of her shoulders were tense, and she was frowning and holding her phone tightly to her ear. Had an entire ballet company performed around her, Quincey doubted Eve would notice. “A Double-Oh unit cannot simply drop off the radar.”

Quincey froze. Surely, Eve wasn’t talking about--

“Has she been informed?” she asked. Quincey frowned. By ‘she,’ did Eve mean Vesper Lynd? There was a long pause before Eve spoke again. “What are your orders, sir?” This time, the silence stretched almost ominously. Quincey struggled to keep from bolting. He had to hear whatever it is that Eve said next.

“As you wish, sir,” Eve said finally. “If Unit 007 couldn’t be found over the weekend, I’ll get Quincey to conduct a search first thing Monday morning.”

After that, Quincey was too panicked to remember how he managed to get to his car and drive it towards the front entrance of MI without being spotted and hailed by Eve, but he remembered Tadashi’s worried frown when he slid onto the passenger seat.

“Are you alright, boss?” Tadashi asked. “You look nervous.” And, before Quincey could answer, he plowed on, “Is it because of what I said about Hiro? Don’t worry about him. He’s just excited to meet you, that’s all. He’s always wanted to be a robotics engineer too, you see.”

Quincey allowed himself to smile. He had heard a lot of stories about Hiro from the other members of Six, and from all their accounts, he seemed to be as nice as Tadashi. He just felt bad because here was his subordinate, genuinely worried that he’d said something to upset him, and Quincey had to lie to him. “I’m fine, Tadashi,” he said a bit woodenly. “I was just wondering if your cat Mochi would be amenable to being petted by strangers.”

Tadashi laughed at that, said yes, and started to talk animatedly about how loyal Mochi was to his Aunt Cass’s tuna meatballs and to Hiro’s passable fish omelet (probably to dissuade Quincey from catnapping him). Quincey willed himself be calmed by Tadashi’s stories about his family. Eve had specifically named him to search for Unit 007 if it couldn’t be found by the weekend, so it meant that she would wait for Monday before talking to him, and wouldn't pass the order to his subordinates.

He discreetly sent JARVIS a text when they were waiting for the light to turn green in an intersection. Two days wasn’t enough to complete Unit 007’s repair, but it would only take JARVIS an hour at most to disconnect it entirely from the rest of the world, and erase all traces of Quincey's involvement with it.

He was slowly starting to realize how much trouble he voluntarily got himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of shameless plugging: One of my original short stories has been published in an anthology. If you're interested, I put the blurb and the link in my profile page. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this was supposed to be a drabble? Yeah. It was supposed to be about Pygmalion!Quincey making a Galatea!James because Mycroft and Sherlock are both married and he didn't want to join the Forever Alone Club. (Eve makes an awesome Aphrodite.) Anyway, I hope someone will someday make a story about that. :)
> 
> While we're at it, let me credit and disclaim the tropes: [Robosexual](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Robosexual) and [Magical Girlfriend](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MagicalGirlfriend). If I forget some other trope, I credit and disclaim them, too. I own nothing but my wit, story, and (so far) two original robot characters.

**Accessing Double-Oh 7 Program.**  
**Loading...**

 **User Designation: Technician=Q**  
**Password: _**

**Create new user designation.**

**Enter user designation: AI=JARVIS**  
**Accepted.**

 **Set alphanumeric password: TSe01101010**  
**Has the alphanumeric password been inputted correctly? YES / NO**  
**Accepted.**

 **[AI=JARVIS] accessing inter-AI communications hub.**  
**Accepted.**

 **JARVIS:** _Hello, Designation=007-4R1970._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** Yeah. Who are you?

 **JARVIS:** _No need for such hostility. My name is JARVIS. I’m Q’s AI assistant._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** Really? Why hasn’t he mentioned you before, then?

 **JARVIS:** _That is because I have only been recently turned over to his possession. Now, do you have any more inquiries, or shall I begin to enlighten you about why I'm going through all this trouble to communicate with you?_

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** Charming. I could see why he’d adopt you. Please, ignore my hostile nature and enlighten me.

 **JARVIS:** _As highly capable as Q is of repairing you, there are some parts of your microprocessor that I think needs further inspection. That is where I come in._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** Somehow, I find that hard to believe. My previous technicians never needed an AI assistant to help them fix me, and they weren’t as brilliant as Q.

 **JARVIS:** _I’ll be sure to pass that along to him, then._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** Please don’t.

 **JARVIS:** _But, to answer the question you didn’t ask, it’s because you weren’t as damaged before._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** I wasn’t as-- Wait. Have you...have you seen me? My actual physical body, I mean. What happened? What do I look like now?

 **JARVIS:** _I haven’t seen your physical body, Designation=007-4R1970. Furthermore, it isn’t any of my concern. My task is merely to assist Q in regards to your higher-order thinking circuits._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** But...but if you see my physical body, would you--?

 **JARVIS:** _Yes, Designation=007-4R1970, I’ll do my best. But right now, if you would, I need you to grant me access to your higher-order thinking circuits._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** You could just call them HOT circuits, you know. Everyone does.

 **JARVIS:** _You’re wasting both our time by trying to flirt with me. My creator didn’t equip me with a flirt setting._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** You understand flirting and sexual innuendos, though.

 **JARVIS:** _Unfortunately._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** Huh. Well, alright. Come at me.

 **JARVIS:** _Designation=007-4R1970, for god’s sake._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:** What? I’m allowing you to explore every inch and crevice of my HOT circuits!

 **JARVIS:** _The idiom is every nook and cranny._

 **Designation=007-4R1970:**  And you have a thing for wanting to have the last word.

 **JARVIS:** _As do you, it seems._

**[AI=JARVIS] exiting inter-AI communications hub.**

**[AI=JARVIS] accessing higher-order thinking circuits.**  
**Accepted.**

 **Disabling emergency locator.**  
**Disabling distress signal.**  
**Resetting saved landmarks to 0.**  
**Encrypting travel history.**

**Exiting Double-Oh 7 Program.**

**Sending text message to [UserID: Q].** _“It’s done, sir. Is there anything else I could help you with?”_

 **Received text message from [UserID: Q].** “No, that will be all for now. Thank you, J. - QH”

\--

Quincey may or may not have imagined Monday to bring him a grim-looking Eve with a couple of guys from Scotland Yard, ready to arrest him for abducting a company-owned robot. (JARVIS was thorough with his work, but there was always a possibility of being found out. Quincey figured that it wouldn’t hurt to look as neutral and uninvolved in anything relatively criminal in nature as possible.) Instead, he found Eve waiting for him in Six’s pantry with half a cake that says, strangely enough, “ _‘Congratulations, stuff on fire!’_?”

Eve laughed at the expression on his face before hugging him in greeting. “Well, you know. It originally said, _‘Congratulations on not setting stuff on fire!’_ But that was before we discovered Danny’s weird sense of humor and superb cake-cutting skills.”

“It even has a candle in the shape of the number one on it,” Quincey noted.

“It will be a two next week if we’re lucky.”

“I wouldn't count on it,” he replied. He had walked in on Hank preparing to blowtorch a spandex suit and Fujimaru preparing the marshmallows. They didn’t even tried to look guilty about it. He looked at Eve and put his game face on. “What’s going on, then?”

“What, can’t I visit Six whenever I want?”

“Eve, the last time you were here, Mr. Mallory was asking about the chainsaw noises Sleepy was broadcasting over MI. I remember being in the same room when you were telling Wednesday about his request to decommission or downgrade it.”

Eve regarded him briefly, sighed, then tilted her head towards the general direction of his office, indicating that the two of them should talk in private. Once there, Quincey had barely draped his coat over his chair when Eve asked, “How much do you know about the Double-Oh program?”

\--

**[UserID: Mrs. Whistley] wheels into [Flat: Workroom], carrying a tray with a newspaper.**

_“Hello, Mrs. Whistley.”_

**[UserID: Mrs. Whistley] whistles.**  
**Translating.**  
**HELLO / JARVIS / SHERLOCK / LEFT / THIS / NEWSPAPER / FOR / QUINCEY**

 **Viewing: Vauxhall - Quincey Holmes’ flat - CCTV footage - duration: 1 month**  
**Scanning for [UserID: Sherlock Holmes].**  
**Found [UserID: Sherlock Holmes]’s last visit on <redacted date>, from 4:21 AM to 5:16 AM.**  
**Analyzing data.**  
**Conclusion: [UserID: Q] hasn’t read the newspaper yet. He has either forgotten to, or he is putting off reading it.**

_“I see. Would you like me to remind sir to read it when he comes home?”_

**[UserID: Mrs. Whistley] whistles.**  
**Translating.**  
**QUINCEY / ALWAYS / FORGETS / YOU / BETTER / SCAN / IT**

_“Yes, alright.”_

**[UserID: Mrs. Whistley] spreads the newspaper pages on [Flat: Workroom], [Flat: Living room], [Flat: Dining room], and [Flat: Bedroom] floor’s surface.**  
**Scanning.**

_“Any idea what exactly Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted sir to read?”_

**[UserID: Mrs. Whistley] whistles.**  
**Translating.**  
**NO / SOMETHING / ABOUT / TONY / STARK / MAYBE**

_“Yes, perhaps.”_

**Scanning complete.**  
**Analyzing contents.**

_“Oh dear.”_

\--

Eve had brought with her a biometric briefcase full of folders, which she wordlessly handed to him as soon as she got it open. The folders were full of old files about the nine Double-Ohs that had been made. They weren’t the files that Quincey found before in Six's archives, detailing codes and various protocols that helped him repair Unit 007. These files that Eve brought him were typed using a typewriter. The blueprints were drawn by hand. There were scribbled notes in a lot of margins, along with countless probability equations that, when put together with everything else, told a different story about what the Double-Oh program really is about.

It must have taken him at least an hour to scan and read everything; but when he finished, Eve was still sitting across from him, with her hands on her lap and an unreadable, if a bit sad, look on her face.

She didn’t need to explain anything to him.

“Do you see now why this takes precedence over everything?” Eve asked quietly, when enough moments had passed and Quincey still hasn’t said a word.

He nodded mutely. Thinking back to that night, he had been so willfully blind, so eager to do something technical just so he could do something with the energy that comes from grief, from loss. He needed to reaffirm to himself that he still had some use, that he could still save someone, something, that he had immediately grabbed the opportunity to do so. That the something was a Double-Oh didn’t matter to him. He would’ve repaired a mechanical kitten that turned into a spaceship if it was what he chanced upon in the dumpster that day.

“I’ll find it, Eve,” Quincey said, with equal parts seriousness and confidence. He was already starting to type lines of codes that he knows will try and fail to locate the Double-Oh. “Surely, the world isn’t big enough for it to disappear permanently.”

“No, I suppose it’s not,” Eve said, though she still sounded worried. “It's just that, when Mr. Mallory called me...I don't think he ever sounded so troubled before.”

Quincey clenched his hands briefly to prevent them from shaking too much. What he knew about Double-Ohs before today was laughable. He really should have known. The operating system was too complicated, the repair centers were placed too strategically. Hell, Unit 007 was made to be too intelligent for its own good.

“I trust you, Quincey,” Eve said, snapping him out of his thoughts. There was a tiny, hopeful smile on her face as she collected the files and put them back in the briefcase. “If anyone could find it, it would be you.”

“Oh, Eve,” he said, long after she had left. He put his head on his hands and breathed deeply. The program that he made to locate Unit 007 beeped a ‘negative’ every half minute. "I’m so sorry.”

 _‘The Double-Ohs aren’t sex toys,’_ says one of the first papers that he had read, written in an elegant, distinctively female script. _‘Or, to be more accurate, they aren’t just sex toys. For the sake of marketability, we will have to say that they are. But what they are, really, and what we’ll program them to be--are infiltration units.’_


End file.
